#(<- has started the whole illustration over like three times)

[zerosconsort]

Zero's Book Binding - barton's halfway house for ex-brainwashed assassins

barton's halfway house for ex-brainwashed assassins by @kangofu-cb 

Fandom: Marvel - The Avengers

Ship: James "Bucky" Barnes & Clint Barton

Start Date: 02/03/2025

End Date: 05/11/2025

Pages: 211

Ok - lets get into it!

This bind is the first three parts of Kangofu-cb's winterhawk series. The farmhouse is the focal point for this fic, so I immediately gravitated to that idea. I really liked the idea of the house growing as it was lived in, from something Clint remember from his childhood to something good and new and a place he wanted to be. 

I built the chapter breaks using early 1900 illustrations. I had wanted to build out larger, multi page chapter headers using some old book illustrations - and this idea felt really nice when paired with a multi-fic bind about reclaiming something from the past.

The whole fic (at least these 3 parts) are all told from Clint's perspective, so like...had to go with the Fraction Hawkeye font. I know, personally, Fraction Clint is my favorite - and I wanted to have that little Clint flare through the whole book, as the chapter numbers and the drop caps. 

I got stuck on this idea of the old farm house becoming something new. The main image I had in my head, while they were remodeling in the fic - was of the old wallpaper. Something outdated and warn down that, over time, with love and attention and care, would get bolder and more modern.

Each fic has it's chapter numbers consistent - same shape and size, different location depending on the fic.

For my divider, I used a fence....... 

I know that technically it's a cross-buck fence and not a picket one, but I liked the metaphor of having a fence that requires more labor to build and fix then a simple, traditional one. I did make them white on the cover and spine, just to - you know - really get the symbolism in there. 

Bonus shot of the paperwork in chapter one from CarCrash, since I forgot to take one and mine is in the press right now.

CarCrash was my second winner for the @marveltrumpshate 2024 event. I was nervous when I first reach out - I had never made a book for someone I didn't know personally before. When they suggested CB's fic, I was pumped. I do love me some winterhawk - and I had not actually read CB's stuff before, so it was a pleasure to find another writer that I adore. 

If you haven't read @kangofu-cb's fics yet, you SHOULD! Thank you to @carcrash429 for bidding on me and donating to charity. You are both wonderful~

[pretchatta]

Family Dinner

After Ezra builds his lightsaber, the Ghost crew introduce him to the celebratory tradition that has evolved over the years, growing with each new member that joined the Spectres. It's one they're all too happy to add Ezra to – and he has a perfect addition of his own.

I wrote this three years ago (!!) for the @legacy-rebelsfanzine fanzine and was waiting to post it until after I received my copy. Unfortunately that never happened so I never posted it, but (spoiler alert) I'm coming back to writing and right now have a couple of pieces I'm sitting on for exchanges. This means I'm chomping at the bit to post something, so I figured it was finally time I shared this outside of the zine. Enjoy!

The delightful illustrations were all drawn by @wachie

you can also read, kudos and comment on AO3! ->

---

Ezra held his breath as he waited for his master to pass judgement on his newly-built lightsaber.

"Well, it's different," Kanan said finally, "but that seems about right for you. Go for it."

He handed the unorthodox hilt back to his Padawan and, holding it apprehensively out in front of him, Ezra ignited the blade. With a snap-hiss, the blue beam of energy came to life, its glow illuminating the Ghost's common area and reflecting in five pairs of awestruck eyes. The whole crew gazed at it and the boy holding it with a mixture of pride and reverence.

"I think this deserves a celebration," Hera murmured, breaking the silence.

Kanan gave her a knowing look, a grin playing at his lips. "Our usual?"

"Let's see what Ezra wants," she said, mirroring his smile. She turned to Ezra to explain, "It's become a tradition on this ship to mark special occasions with a particular meal, but since this is your achievement, is there something you would like? Something to celebrate the day you built your lightsaber?"

"Well..." Ezra stared thoughtfully at his still-lit lightsaber for a moment, a crease forming between his eyebrows. He seemed to come to a conclusion and thumbed the switch to retract the blade, dimming the light in the room back to its usual levels. "When I was a kid and my parents were making their broadcasts, there was a stew we'd have after each one. I remember it had these dumplings on top and when we made it, they'd let me make the dumplings. It was our tradition."

"A traditional stew, huh?" Zeb asked with a grin. "I think we're having our usual, Hera."

Ezra quirked an eyebrow at him. "You have the same thing?"

"Not with dumplings."

"Not yet," Sabine corrected, a glint in her eye.

It's our own special kind of stew," Hera explained to him. "It's changed a lot over the years, but it started when I first set out to fight the Empire. Whenever I had a few spare credits I'd treat myself to fresh  produce – whatever the local market had. I'd slice it up and fry it to add some flavour and texture to the usual rations. Each time someone joined my crew, it changed."

"It always went cold quickly, so I turned it into a broth," Kanan said.

"And it was vegetarian," Zeb added with a grimace.

Hera turned to him with a frown. "We couldn't afford meat regularly until you joined us," she pointed out.

"Somehow it was still lacking flavour when you picked me up, so I was the one to add spices," Sabine chipped in.

Hera smiled. "It improved each time."

"And your dumplings will make a great addition," Kanan told Ezra. "They should cook in the broth, and with them we won't even need to supplement it with rations any more."

Hera picked up her datapad and moved to stand in front of her crew. "It sounds like we need to make a market trip."

There was no need for everyone to go, but no-one wanted to stay behind – not even Chopper. Once everyone was out, Hera locked up the Ghost behind them as Zeb led the way to Kothal. Kanan hung back to walk with her behind the kids, and she slipped her hand into his and gave him a smile of thanks. The soft look he gave her in return warmed her heart.

Something had changed in him since he'd taken Ezra to that Temple, and something had changed in Ezra too. They had both come back different – calmer, more sure of themselves, more comfortable in their roles as Jedi Master and Padawan. She'd always done her best to support Kanan, but she knew Ezra and the Jedi Temple could give him something she had never been able to. However, the look in his eyes reminded her that she gave him something just as important.

The market wasn't overly busy this late in the day. They split up in order to find everything – and therefore get back for dinner – faster. Zeb went to a local butcher's stall with Chopper not far behind, and Sabine said something about running low on a few of her spices. Ezra seemed to be looking with interest at a selection of baking ingredients, so Hera left him to it and went to her favourite fresh produce stand.

Hera knew she was here for vegetables but the display of imported meilooruns did look good… She turned to ask Kanan if they had the credits for one, but he wasn't behind her where she had expected. A search of nearby stalls found him only a few metres away, wearing–

"Kanan," she called, incredulity colouring her voice, "is that a 'kiss the cook' apron?"

"What do you think?" he asked, giving her a roguish wink.

She rolled her eyes but couldn't hold back a grin. She allowed herself one meiloorun as she bought the vegetables, and then went to round up her crew.

Surprisingly, Chopper was the first she came across, and he seemed to be in a very good mood. She assumed he'd been looking at the displays of mechanical oils again. Zeb was next, who had managed to haggle an extra steak into his bag, and then Sabine, who had been about to wander over to a dye stall. Kanan fetched a suspiciously flour-covered Ezra and then she was leading the way back to the Ghost after yet another successful supply run.

Cooking began as soon as they returned, with everyone eager to eat. Kanan made a start on the broth, with Hera by his side slicing the vegetables. Sabine brought the pestle and mortar out to start grinding her spices as Zeb sharpened his steak knives. Kanan helped Ezra get ready to make his dumplings, and Hera saw what looked like a pang of nostalgia pass over the boy's face as he laid out his bowls in a very specific way.

The sounds that filled the galley were almost like music; the steady chop of Hera's knife, the sizzle of Zeb's pan, the scrape of Sabine's pestle and the gentle simmer of Kanan's broth. It didn't take long for some amazing smells to start wafting around the small space either.

"Hey, Ezra," Sabine called over the noise. "Have you ever had bisawa paste before?"

An array of jars and pots were open on the counter in front of her, the contents of which she was carefully measuring into a bowl. The one currently in her hand was filled with a bright green paste.

"Nope," Ezra replied, looking at the contents of the jar with interest. "What is it?"

Instead of replying, she used a spoon to scoop some out and offer it to him. "You should try some!"

Behind her, Zeb's ears pricked up with interest as he started to carefully transfer the contents of his pan into the broth. "Yeah, kid, try some, it's really good!"

"Okay," Ezra said, shrugging as his curiosity got the better of him.

He let Sabine feed him the mouthful of paste. It was as she removed the spoon and her eyes lit up with mischief that he realised his mistake – his tongue was burning. It was too late to stop himself from swallowing. The heat spread throughout his mouth and down his throat. Ezra felt his face flush and his eyes start to water.

He let out a pained groan. "Sabine!"

She tipped her head back and cackled with laughter. He lunged towards her, intending to wipe his floury hands on her in retribution, but Sabine was too fast. She ducked nimbly under his outstretched arms, still laughing. The galley wasn't very big, and as his vision blurred with tears he stumbled into the back of someone.

"Hey!" Zeb complained as Ezra knocked him.

Ezra started to wonder if his vengeance on Sabine could wait until after he found some water, but was distracted by the sight of the perfect white handprint on Zeb's back. Sabine noticed too, and they both burst into laughter together.

Zeb realised he was the butt of their joke, but fortunately for all Hera stepped in before the situation could escalate.

Ezra, get yourself a glass of water," she said calmly, "and Zeb, now's a good time to lay the table."

She wasn't sure if it was her or their hungry stomachs that made them obey, but her crew did as they were told. She left Kanan to stir the last of the vegetables into the broth as she went to check on Ezra. He was mostly recovered from his first encounter with bisawa, and while she had sympathy from him, every crewmember had at some point been subjected to Sabine's "taste test". It was part of the tradition now.

Soon, they were all sitting down together, rubbing elbows in the cramped space of the galley. Kanan served them each a bowl of warm, rich stew, but remained standing.

"Congratulations, Ezra," he began with a smile. "Finding a kyber crystal and constructing your lightsaber is an important step on your path to being a Jedi; we're all proud of you."

Ezra's face warmed at the attention. "Thanks," he mumbled. "Though I wouldn't have even made it this far without you."

"He's right, love," Hera said. "This isn't just about Ezra's achievement – you're a great teacher for him."

"The best," Ezra agreed.

"To Ezra and Kanan!" Sabine toasted.

"Yeah, yeah," Zeb said. "Can we eat now? The smell is making my mouth water."

With a laugh, they all set about eating their stew. It was delicious. As they ate, each person found themself thinking the same thing: sure, the meal had been perfect before, but just like their crew, it was even better with Ezra's addition.

[whatbigotspost]

I’m gonna start coining tumblr specific cognitive biases and logical fallacy terms…here’s the first ones I’ve theorized so far. (I’m using “actor” here meaning “the person, acting out the fallacy or bias for us all to see.”)

1. The unique contribution fallacy—reading a post of over 10k notes and the actor thinks of something they surmise is very clever to add. The actor imagines themselves to be the first special unique soul to contribute this add, when OP has actually received this “clever” comment 5000 times of those 10,000 notes driving OP up the wall.

2. The whataboutism bias— reading a post on any given particular topic, and believing that OP should say every single thing that you could possibly say about that topic under said single post. The actor doesn’t know they have a personal agenda on the topic and expects OP would have that same bias to talk about the side of the given topic that correlates to the actor’s personal bias, instead of allowing OP to be somebody who just writes what they wanted to write. This often works in tandem with… 

3. The TLDR bias— seeing a post that is actually extremely long and thoroughly well written, often times with sources, numerous added threads of detail etc. but the actor doesn’t actually read the content of the FULL post. Then, in reblogging it or commenting on it, “adding” something that OP definitely originally said, and revealing oneself as somebody who doesn’t even read the detailed things that they re-blog or add on comments about.

3. The literal URL fallacy— not understanding the total chaos that is the Tumblr URL, in this fallacy the actor thinks that someone’s username is ALWAYS telling you exactly what the content of their blog might be. I’ll illustrate this one in like a totally random example way… Let’s say that you hypothetically made a blog that was all about calling out bigots back in the days of yore, the early twenty teens. And yet somehow, despite the fact that every other user around you seems to not be taken literally by their URLs, the actor decides that everything that you post is therefore bigotry…….even if what you’re posting is your own original content that you’re writing, calling out bigots. Too bad, so sad! Because in this fallacy, the actor is going to see you as what your URL says, literally, always.

4. The missed URL fallacy— this of course is the exact opposite of number three. It is where a blog has a very particular theme and format to it, that is the most important thing you can notice to understand the context of a post. So, again, just a random example here… But let’s just say that the intent of a blog is to always post submitted weird ass dreams people had, but the actor doesn’t realize this in their relogging and thinks that somebody is reporting a real life situation that was definitely, very specifically a wild fever dream.

5. The throw the baby out with the bathwater bias— a fan favorite among left leaning and social justice corners of the site, this bias is when the actor reads a post where somebody doesn’t use the most optimal, virtue signaling language for them personally, so the actor ignores the whole entire point of the post. It could be something as serious as and attention demanding as genocide, but somebody uses a word like “crazy” or “stupid” or “bitch” in it and so the actor’s worldview and general proclaimed values are casually tossed aside because the language that was used to deliver it was not “perfect.”

6. The choose your own reality bias—The actor reads a post and reblogs it, adding commentary that is responding to things that are definitely not said in the original post and definitely not anything in the realm of what OP was talking about. Close cousin to…

7. The this is definitely about me/self-own fallacy— this one is actually one of my favorites to spot out in the wild because it is SUCH a tell. It is like a slightly more specific version of the “choose your own reality bias” but this is when the actor reads a post and blogs it, adding commentary that is responding to things that are definitely not said in the original post as if OP is talking about them personally, and therefore revealing themselves as potentially shady or suspect in someway because why did they make it about them, if it’s not about them, you know?

8. The zombie post fallacy—in this one, the actor most likely does not have time stamps enabled on their dash because that isn’t something that happens here by default, and this site has a higher presence of zombie posts (by the way its designed and how it functions) than any other social media site I know. So when a zombie post from 2011 shambles across their dash in 2024, they react to that content as if it is completely new and relevant information or news or a situation to be dealt with in the modern era.

What needs added?

[python333]

task force 141 reacting to [reader] giving them a 'happy father's day' card — python333

— — — —

synopsis you give the tf141 boys some happy father's day cards!!

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & younger!reader.

characters cap. price, soap, ghost.

warnings 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign], reader is intended to be around 16/17-20/21 but can be interpreted as older as long as they're below 24 (just so that the headcanons make more sense), maybe ooc?

note i'm so sorry but there's no gaz in this one BUT i can explain why!! i was doing my research (going through three different tumblr posts) to figure out the actual age of each character and gaz is apparently 24?? in new updates or whatever?? anyway, even before i found that out, i could only ever imagine writing him as an older brother, simply because he doesn't feel fatherly to me but still has those protecive-familial vibes so if yall want me to write something on him being ur older brother then feel free to request/reply/comment or whatever and i will! :3 this is all comfort no hurt and pure fluff so enjoy!!

JOHN “BRAVO SIX” PRICE

➥ OH GOD.

➥ man i don’t even have daddy issues and i’m crying.

➥ gives you that one dad smile he has—y’all know the one. don’t pretend you don’t—and thanks you for it.

➥ gives you a lil hug too because why not?

➥ tears up just the tiniest bit but it’s pretty unnoticeable but i need you to know that it’s there.

➥ either keeps it propped up on his desk, in one of the drawers of his desk, or puts it in a small frame and puts that on or in his desk.

➥ definitely reads it at least once a week.

➥ he’s so genuinely flattered by it i think that after you leave his office he’d tear up a bit.

➥ you thought he was acting as a father figure to you before?

➥ be prepared for him to take it to a whole nother level.

➥ starts getting you cheesy birthday cards after you start giving him father’s day cards.

➥ is he a father biologically? no. is he one mentally, emotionally, and spiritually? absolutely.

—

You were reasonably pretty nervous.

It wasn’t ever really a secret that you and Price had some sort of father-child-like relationship, what with the amount of hair ruffles, head pats, shoulder pats, etc. that you’d received from him and the swatting at his hand with your own that you had given back. But none of that took away the nervousness you had when you gave Price a father’s day card for the first time.

It’s not that you thought that he would be weirded out by it, you just had a small habit of overthinking things, and this happened to be one of those things. The card didn’t say too much inside of it, a simple ‘happy father’s day!’ and a sentence you wrote that mentioned that you were grateful to know him. That’s it. That’s all it was. And yet, your hand shook as you held it, the other hand knocking on the door of Price’s office.

He nodded in greeting and opened it, and stepped out of the way to let you walk in and sit in front of his desk. He sat at his usual seat after shutting the door, and you set the card in your lap, not wanting him to see it just yet.

“Is there any particular reason why you wanted to come into my office?” Price asked, breaking the silence. You took a deep breath and nodded before you quickly handed over the card, slipping it onto his side of the desk. He took a good look at it for a moment, reading the ‘happy father’s day!’ on the front and looking over the cheesy illustration on the cover. You anxiously waited for him to say something as he simply stared at it, before he picked it up and opened it, reading the short few words that were written on the inside.

You watched as his expression melted into a softer one, and he stared at the card for another moment before wordlessly getting up. Before you could say anything, or question anything, he knelt down to the level of the chair you were sitting in and hugged you. You were frozen with surprise before you hugged him back, loosely wrapping your arms over his shoulders, a little confused by the hug but appreciating the embrace nonetheless. He rubbed your back for a quick moment before standing back up straight and patting your shoulder.

”Thank you,” He said, smiling down at you. “I really appreciated that, kiddo.”

Oh, wow. I don’t know why, but I think I might start crying. “Yeah—yeah, of course,” You’d replied, quickly getting up and giving Price a quick hug before swiftly walking to the door, “I’ll just, uh, I’ll be in my room. Or, actually, no, I’m gonna go—I’m gonna go bother Soap in his office, so if you need me I’ll be in there okaybyeCaptainI’llseeyoulater!” You rushed out, not looking back as you closed the door behind you.

Price had blinked at the door for a moment before huffing out a small laugh and sitting back down in his chair, looking at the card you’d given him one last time before sighing and letting himself tear up a bit. Eventually, after just sitting there and staring at the card, he unlocked one of the few locked drawers at the bottom of his desk and put the card there, for safekeeping.

—

JOHN “SOAP” MACTAVISH

➥ he’s so excited when he reads that card.

➥ he’s so flattered?? and is so happy?? and oh my god he might pass out?? from all the positive emotions he feels??

➥ be careful with what you say because you might break him beyond repair.

➥ it’s like you’ve given a puppy it’s first treat, honestly.

➥ won’t cry but is very close to!!

➥ will definitely show off the card to everyone.

➥ when i say everyone i mean EVERYONE.

➥ he will talk everyone’s ear off about it, no matter who they are or what they’re doing, hell, the man could be pissing with his dick out at the urinals and everything and he’ll still be ranting to the poor soul in the bathroom about what a sweetheart you are and how you gave him a father’s day card.

➥ he starts calling you ‘lamb’ and ‘duckie’ after the whole ordeal.

➥ no i didn’t ask chatgpt for terms of endearment scottish parents use for their children haha!!

➥ he buys a corkboard just to pin the card to in his office.

➥ like it’s literally just in the middle, nothing else on the corkboard, just that singular father’s day card.

➥ the whole thing is just reserved for father’s day cards tbh. he hopes to fill it up with as many cards as you’ll give him, and if you only give him the one, then damn it, the corkboard’s only gonna have one thing on it and whoever questions it can mind their damn business.

—

You didn’t really know what to expect with Soap when you gave him the card.

You felt pretty confident giving it to him, knowing the guy could probably receive a rock with googly eyes on it from you and still cry tears of joy knowing you gave it to him of all people, so giving this card to him was no big deal, right?

You found him in the recreational center, lounging on the couch, reading a book—shocking, I know—and quietly reading the words out loud to himself. The moment you had entered the center, though, he looked up from his book and nodded in greeting at you with a smile on his face and watched as you walked over to him.

Before he could say anything, you quickly put the card in his lap and watched as he looked up at you, a surprised and amused expression on his face.

“What’s this?” He asked, not looking down at the card just yet.

“Read it,” You’d insisted, gesturing towards the card in his lap. He blinked at you for a moment before muttering, “Alright, then,” under his breath and looking down at the card. He picked it up and read the three short words on the front and looked over the illustration on the cover, and the moment the words registered in his brain, his face broke out into a grin and he looked up at you.

“Aww, this is sae sweet,” Soap gushed, “Thank ye!”

He got up before you could talk and hugged you tightly, lifting you off the ground a bit, cooing, “Ye're jist the sweetest, ma God, when did ye get the card?”

“I got it a while ago,” You had admitted, “Decided to give it to you now.”

Soap set you down and put both of his hands on your shoulders, gently rubbing circles into them with his thumb, looking down at you with an elated grin, "I'm gonnae hang this up in ma office—I'll get a corkboard an' everything, jist for this."

You looked up at him with a confused, but amused look on your face, asking, “And you’re just gonna hang that card on there?”

He nodded in confirmation and responded, “Aye, it'll be deid center, naething else on there."

—

SIMON “GHOST” RILEY

➥ oh my goodness.

➥ the moment you hand him the card, it’s like he already knows what it is without reading it.

➥ probably thinks it’s a joke at first.

➥ when he realizes that you’re serious he straight up tears up.

➥ like in front of you and everything he’ll tear up.

➥ “... Are you crying?” ghost, tearing up and literally about to start sobbing, "No.”

➥ he treasures that thing and would literally cease to exist if he ever lost it or if it got destroyed.

➥ won’t flaunt it at all, instead he keeps it in the pocket of a jacket he never wears anymore.

➥ if you ever give him more cards, he’ll consider getting a box to keep them in.

➥ he’s always called you ‘kid’ but after this he starts calling you ‘kiddo’.

➥ THERE’S A DIFFERENCE. I CANNOT TELL YOU WHAT IT IS BUT THERE IS A DIFFERENCE.

➥ listen kiddo is more affectionate and its softer and its not as playful as kid its more personal and and and [explodes]

➥ the others notice the small change in behavior he has towards you (being more lighthearted with his teasing, generally being less cold with you, etc.) and will tease him endlessly about it.

➥ by others i mean soap and gaz. those two team up and tease him to death.

➥ he could care less though!! he tells himself that they’re idiots anyway and that his behavior hasn’t changed that much.

➥ he’s in denial and i think that him and me are the same fr.

—

You had practically searched every corner, crevice, nook, and cranny of the base searching for Ghost. When you finally found him, he was in the armory and weapons room cleaning the barrel of his rifle, hyperfocused on wiping away the gunk on the gun. You stopped by the door, hesitating in giving him the card. It really shouldn’t be that hard, You thought, What’s the worst that could happen?

You were aware that there were many things that could happen, most of which were bad, but you ignored them for the sake of building up your confidence to give him the card. You stood there for a while, just sort of staring at him, before he—not even looking up from his gun—called out to you with a simple yet firm, “Do you need something?”

You probably could’ve died right there, his firm voice almost completely shattering your confidence for reasons you couldn’t specify, but you instead cleared your throat and walked out of the doorway and completely into the room. You walked over to him and before he could ask any further questions you held the card out to him, your hand having a small tremble to it, an uncomfortably visible display of your nervousness.

He stared at the card for a moment before setting down the cloth he was using to clean his gun and grabbing it, reading the front for a moment before huffing out a small laugh and looking up at you to tease you for it. He was going to tell you what a ‘funny’ joke it was, to tell you to just go do whatever work you’re probably skipping out on when he sees the look on your face that tells him that you’re pretty serious about the card.

He looked back down at the card and read it again, the words ‘happy father’s day’ echoing through his mind as he opened it. He read the few short words on the inside of the card and the shitty drawing of a ghost right next to one that was scribbled out—because of course you had to use pen and weren’t satisfied with the first ghost you drew even though Ghost could make out through the scribbles that they practically looked the same.

You were pretty nervous the longer the silence stretched out, and you were about to take back the card and go jump off a cliff to avoid ever looking at Ghost again when suddenly you hear a sniffle.

“Are you… are you crying?” You’d asked, more confused than nervous now, watching as Ghost shook his head negatively and continued to stare at the inside of the card.

“No,” He answered, sniffling again.

“... You sure?” You’d asked again, far less nervous now, your tone becoming more teasing.

“Positive.” Ghost said firmly, though his voice had wavered a bit. He looked up at you and reached his hand up to give you a pat on the shoulder, muttering, “Thank you for that, kiddo.”

"Yeah, no problem," You had said back, smiling down at Ghost before taking a step back, "I'll leave you to keep cleaning your gun, or whatever."

Ghost had simply nodded and looked back at the table where your card and his gun laid, and you didn't stay long enough to watch him tear up all over again at the sight of the letter.

[agent-troi]

mulder and scully’s season 6 dynamic is interesting because in some ways they’re more joined at the hip than ever before. this season has the highest concentration of shippy episodes, including an explicit love confession, getting mistaken for a married couple three times (not including the time they pretended to be married on purpose for a case), a baseball date, scully going feral when mulder gets lost in the bermuda triangle, mulder begging scully to investigate x-files with him even when it’s not their job anymore, mulder tagging along in the background the whole time scully gets sent on an x-file without him, their secret handshake in the hospital afterwards. “agent scully is already in love.”

the only times they really don’t get along are when diana actually appears in the episode (side note: diana only gets mentioned once in the episodes in which she doesn’t appear, a fact which intrigues me to no end. it’s like when she’s not there she doesn’t even exist, and in fact i have actually forgotten she existed while watching some of these episodes lol).

i think their schism in the beginning is partly due to mulder being petulant because scully couldn’t/wouldn’t back him up at the opr hearing after he put himself way out there earnestly insisting with his whole chest she was about to present proof of alien life. it’s not that he suddenly doesn’t trust her anymore, he just feels (somewhat irrationally) like he was let down, and this occurring simultaneously with the reappearance of someone else who not only listens to him but appears more inclined to believe him (which almost never happens) naturally led him to act out, but in the very next episode (drive) they’re a team again, using his intuition combined with her science to figure out what’s going on with crump. the fact that they couldn’t save him wasn’t their fault, and is almost incidental to what this episode really illustrates, which is not only how well they work together, but that they still can work together, and the past five years between them haven’t been erased just because diana’s back in town.

another thing: every time scully gets injured/goes to the hospital, mulder goes absolutely apeshit and starts accosting doctors and demanding answers. when diana got shot, his reaction was to hang out with scully and wait for secondhand info on her condition. we don’t even know if he ever went to visit her. when he finds out she’s taking over the x-files, he’s hurt and accuses her of stabbing him in the back. also in terms of endearment, we find out he’s going through spender’s trash to find x-files that he shredded so he (and scully) can investigate them, but if he really wanted to he could just talk to diana and ask her to slide him some cases when no one’s looking. the fact that he doesn’t shows that he doesn’t necessarily trust her blindly (or at least that he doesn’t want to get involved with her again).

i’m kind of rambling and not really sure where i was going with this, except i think people sometimes overestimate the impact diana had on their relationship. i think she was definitely a catalyst for them to examine some of their feelings more closely, but she was never gonna drive a permanent wedge between them. the closest she came was in one son, and even then they manage to pull back from the brink of destruction. scully asks for mulder’s trust, and he gives it by going to look for proof that diana really has betrayed him. if it had been the other way around, if diana had accused scully of working for the syndicate, he would have dismissed the idea immediately and never even bothered to consider it (actually hold on that’s a great fic idea, maybe diana overplays her hand and mulder catches on a lot sooner to what she’s doing).

[earth-64]

DELTARUNE TOMORROW

In 1989 Trident Comics published a four-part comic titled St. Swithin’s Day.

St. Swithin’s Day follows an unnamed 19 year old who has decided to assassinate Margaret Thatcher. The comic follows him in the days leading up to the event. He steals, and later decides to throw away, a copy of Catcher in the Rye. He has a conversation with a woman in a cafe who only exists in his head. He sleeps in a maintenance train car. He dances to The La’s “There She Goes” in front of Karl Marx’s grave. He calls his mother, who begs him to come home and interview for a job at a grocery store. The morning of St Swithin’s Day he jumps in front of Margaret Thatcher, appearing as a madman reaching into his jacket pocket, "neurotic boy outsider" written proudly on his forehead. He pulls out nothing. He points his finger at her and simply says “bang” out loud and is promptly tackled by security. He rides home on the train, covered in bruises and less one tooth.

“It was worth it just to see her scared.”

St. Swithin’s Day was written by Grant Morrison, known for the incredibly metatextual first arc of Animal Man, as well as his run of Doom Patrol, The Invisibles, and All-Star Superman. He was part of the all-star lineup behind 52, the comic that got me into comics. It is illustrated by Paul Grist, an artist well-known for the series Kane. At least that’s what Wikipedia is telling me. I did not ever find the time to consume Grists’ other works, let alone study them as closely as I did Morrison’s, before deciding on my method of suicide.

[Recommended reading for this is on my new website, Earth-64. It is also available on Archive of Our Own.]

I tried to kill myself five times in a three year period. You’d say I’m being a bit loose saying I “tried” when I was never found unconscious on the pavement or bleeding out in the bath. Suicide is not a singular moment. It is weeks of spiraling. It is time spent feeling unreal. It is a decision made in a manner of thought existing below consciousness. It is a monster that festers inside of you, begging for the conditions to be met that would allow your conscious mind to accept it. A remaining sliver of your rational brain watches helplessly as you cut yourself off from your support network. You start consuming media that you know will make you sad. You want to get your brain to want to kill you. You want to feel like you want to die. You’re afraid you’ll get better, that you’ll miss your chance. You start writing a note in your head that you’re too afraid to put onto paper. Yet you may write it in a hurried panic late one night, because you need it with urgency. You’re afraid you won’t be able to write it later because you’ll be too far gone. You learn the songs that make you the saddest and assemble the playlist that will kill you. You plan the perfect day of melancholic vitriol that would make it possible and you set a date. I tried to kill myself five distinct times while in Seattle.

I’m hurtling towards the sixth attempt at forty miles per hour on the Sound Transit light rail as the soundtrack to my demise tocks Clark Powell’s “Ephemeral Muse” and ticks over to Will Wood’s “Against the Kitchen Floor”. Othello gives way to Columbia City and the Seattle skyline spells out a threat I know all too well it has the guts to follow through with. I’m thinking about how blind I must have been to think it said anything different to me as I was riding in just four years ago just as Mount Baker swallows the train whole. Will Wood’s apologies for his inability to become human echo through the maintenance tunnels of my brain.

We emerge from the tunnel out into Soho and Seattle is no longer a threat on the horizon but a looming beast. The light rail does not stop. We drive straight into the beast’s stomach as Ada Rook’s “Strangers” takes its turn stabbing me gently. This metal snake worms its way through the beast’s colon and I become aware of the other passengers for the first time as I start to bawl my eyes out. They do not react.

These underground stations are the familiar ones, the ones I would pass every day on my way to work. For the first year I lived in Seattle I took this train from Capitol Hill to the International District and back again. I remember every emotion I’ve ever experienced on this train. I remember how much hope and joy I had once felt. That was supposed to be the start of my Real Life. It wasn’t supposed to be an empty chapter of rot near the end of my book. I hate that I now feel so unwelcome here. I hate that being here now makes me want to die. I hate that I came here to die.

“Now arriving: Capitol Hill.”

I stand on the platform for a moment and take in the segmented planes I’ve passed under hundreds of times. On my first day here I took a selfie with them and made a joke about being with Eva-01. That’s just what happens when you show a daunting hunk of purple and green metal to someone who watched Evangelion for the first time just a few months prior. I wonder how many other people have made the same joke or even had the same fleeting thought for just a few seconds as they ride the escalator. Now I’m reminded more of the stealth bomber obscuring the moon at the end of Psycholonials, but that’s just what happens when you place a suicidal tranny underneath a daunting hunk of metal. It occurs to me for just a moment that I never once bothered to look up what this art piece is actually called or who made it. I don’t stop to do that now. I’m ascending up the escalator fast enough that the onism can’t keep up.

When I emerge I’m met with the heart-wrenching site of a clear blue sky. It’s a rare hot day in Seattle. I avoid a few nagging clipboard-wielders pedaling some kind of phone scam and make my way down Broadway. I should have exited the station from the other end. Old habit.

Each step I take into Cal Anderson feels like turning up the volume dial of a screaming static. The large round fountain is spilling water forth in an endless performance. The lawns are dotted with twenty-somethings smoking weed and throwing frisbees to their dogs. Only a couple kids are hanging from the monkeybars. I never saw many kids in this city. That horrid bright blue sky and roaring hot sun loom above it all. What is left of our natural world if you can’t count on rain in Seattle anymore?

My penchant for what the kids are calling “Aura and Hype” and I call “finding narrative fulfillment” and most would call “cringe” forces me to turn on Mike Oldfield’s “Nuclear” as I take a seat on a park bench.

Standing on the edge of the crater.

I try to imagine the cold ashes that must still lay embedded deep in the dirt. In my mind I see the lawns beaten down to workable soil. A sea of tents set up inside protective walls of chainlink and cardboard. And words, words everywhere. Cries for freedom and for change, mantras painted onto every surface. Endless crowds of people fighting loud and proud for a better world.

And I can’t see it.

I wasn’t there.

What a mess we made, when it all went wrong.

In June of 2020 I found myself back together with my long-distance right-wing ex-boyfriend after he simply refused to let me break up with him. I had quit my job in December 2019, he dropped the ball on moving me in, and I was stuck without a job when the pandemic hit. I tried to dump him as my politics took a miraculously wild turn left, then everything stagnated. The world came to a stop. My parents still wanted money for rent and there was a black void beyond our porch steps. They threatened to throw me out into it on more than one occasion that summer. Getting back together with my ex was the best option I had if I wanted to stay alive. But I did so with a stipulation: I told him that if a revolutionary movement started and led to a commune situation, anywhere on the planet, I would leave him immediately. I would drop everything and run to anywhere in the world to find freedom. Of course he didn’t think it would ever happen.

CHAZ was founded the following weekend.

I watched from afar as all the leftist history I had been reading for the past year played out in real time on my computer screen. I think to most people aware of it at the time it felt like a story of legend. Sparse images made their way online, stories passed around by pure written word promised a narrative that seemed magical, mythical. Even at that moment it was easy to dismiss it as a work of fiction. Five years removed and nothing here remains to prove it wasn’t.

I was uniquely positioned to know people who were there. I spoke to people who had their boots in this very soil. At the time it was a real thing I could see happening to people I cared about, and now I still see its echoes in their faces. The experience forever changed the ones that it didn’t kill.

I kept my promise to my ex-boyfriend, but I didn’t make it to Seattle until the following year. All that remained of CHAZ in 2021 was a community garden, which is now the green lawn of mowed grass I’m staring at while I sit here. That garden and the ghosts that haunt everyone I love.

CHAZ was a reprieve from culture. CHAZ was owning a gun and keeping a midnight watch. CHAZ was a fleeting glimpse into what really matters. CHAZ was all that has ever been real. CHAZ was the only chance we ever had to actually fight. CHAZ shattered the reality that internet drama or culture war means anything. The loss of CHAZ led to a lot of suicide.

4lung, in her song “Rat King World Champion - Quit While You're Ahead”, deals with the aftermath of there briefly existing a better world. Her lyrics–

“Oh my gosh I am so sorry! She gets so excited when we come here.”

“It’s fine,” I reply, taking off my headphones. The silence of the world hits me like a truck. I pet the dog. “What’s her name?”

“Maureen.”

“You have a very human name, Maureen.”

“She’s named after my sister,” says the woman as she takes a seat on the bench. We sit in silence for a few agonizing seconds before she breaks it. “You live here on the hill?”

“No, just visiting.”

“Family? Friends?”

“I’m going to commit suicide by cop. Elon Musk is in town to attend an esports event. I am going to point my fingers at him, shout bang, and be killed.”

I let the next few seconds of silence wash over me like a cool breeze. She responds, calmly, “Why?”

“What else is there left for me to do?”

“You could do it for real, if you’re sure you’re going to die anyway.”

I don’t think about it. I think about something else instead. I turn around and point to an apartment skyrise that wasn’t there a decade ago. I say, “I toured one of those apartments last year. I was so certain I was going to bring my girlfriend up here from California. It was a modest plan. We would both have jobs and we would barely scrape by living in a one-bedroom apartment. The real estate agent showed me around the room and I filmed it. I was so excited to show my girlfriend even that tiny place we could call our own. The agent took me around the building, showed me a gym I would never use, then up to the top floor. It’s beautiful up there: pool tables and grills and sun lounges and a killer view. I looked out and saw this whole park, all at once. A beautiful green lawn under a shining sun. The real estate agent smiled at me from behind her clipboard, talking about prices while I took in the breathtaking view of the world’s most beautiful graveyard. They burned our future and stuck an exorbitant price tag on its corpse.”

“Did you find a place to be with your girlfriend?”

“I did. It wasn’t here and it didn’t last long.”

She points at me. No, she’s pointing at one of my buttons. “It comes out in a couple days, you know? Don’t you want to be alive to see what happens next? And someday to see how it ends?”

At first I’m caught off guard. Then I remember how mainstream Deltarune is. I have to remind myself of that often. It still feels like a niche within a niche within a niche. A comic begets a game that begets a game. The further down the rabbit hole you go the closer you get to the surface. Obscurity is eroded by entropy. I respond truthfully, “It’s become hard to care.”

She looks almost… angry? “Given the option of a world-changing martyrdom or a continued search for meaning you choose… a pointless suicide? You’re gonna march up to the oppressor and ask to be excused? You’re gonna let a cop watch you bleed out in the street? Millions of people will know about you, and you’re wrong if you think you’ll be inciting anything in them. They’re all scared and you’re gonna make it worse.”

“Don’t ever volunteer for a suicide hotline ma’am, you’re awful at it.”

“Who do you blame?”

“I guess, ultimately, it's all my own fault.”

“So what now then? What the fuck now?”

“Now this is the part where we zoom out to reveal I haven’t been talking to anyone. You’re just a figment of my imagination. I made you up to have a different excuse to exposit than the last three monologues.”

I take a deep breath and zoom out again. West this time. The Front Bottom’s “Twin Sized Mattress”.

I came here a lot, on my worst days in Seattle. A maze-like bookstore with a bunch of live-in cats. When I’d hit a point where I could not stand to sit alone in my apartment for another moment, but could not dare to reach out to any of the friends I suspected of hating me, I’d come here and pet a cat. I was sure none of these cats held any grudges towards me, sure that none of them would recoil from my pet and complain “Um, actually I’ve hated you for years! I kept hoping you wouldn’t come back!” before issuing a restraining order.

I used to play a game here. I’d try to see if I could find a book containing someone I knew or someone that meant something to me. Well that version of the rules sounds a little easy because “liking an author” is enough for them to mean something to you, and plenty of people like plenty of common authors. The version of the ruleset that exists in my head is closer to “find a book containing knowledge that pertains to The Plot.” The Plot meaning… the things important to my own personal narrative. It’s much too late for me to be unpacking what that means. It’s not like it meant anything in the end, anyway, it would seem.

I take a seat amongst the science fiction books, the corner where the cats like to sleep in the sun. One that reminds me of a childhood pet is curled up in the windowsill. I run my fingers through its fur.

I’ve fallen, my knees screaming into the hot California cement. Sweat streams down my face and I can’t catch my breath. I can’t breathe at all. I’m dying. I just had to shovel some fucking rocks and it’s killing me. I’ve been given everything I’ve ever wanted and I can’t give back even this. I lost my temper and I screamed and I cursed and I made a fool of myself again. She’s going to be afraid of me like everyone else is. Everyone is afraid of me eventually. Because I’m rash and I’m angry and I’m violent. I couldn’t be reasonable. I had to lose myself and push myself until I was raw and bloody. I’m bleeding everywhere. I’m dying. No, I’m already dead. I’ve been dead. I killed myself in Seattle. I never made it out. I jumped off my roof and landed in Heaven and everything is so beautiful now that I don’t deserve it. I’m crying and screaming and bleeding in Heaven. I look up and see an angel so beautiful that I can’t belong here.

The cat yawns and stretches and walks away. I sit there a moment among the shitty Star Wars novelizations, listening to my suicide-playlist. “The Leaving”, Marcus Carline. I take my own, refusing to play the game. The old woman who runs the place is arguing with someone trying to resell books they just bought at the thrift store two blocks over. Outside the sun continues its onslaught.

I’m wandering at this point, stumbling through familiar streets. I try to focus on the music but I’m breathing too loud, thinking too fast. The steps don’t come naturally, I have to think about each and every one. I’m processing a thousand smells and sounds and a million sights. I can’t will myself to zoom out this time.

I tear off the headphones and collapse at the base of a tree. I close my eyes and imagine the feather. I count the numbers on London’s tattoo. I remember seeing a bunny. I saw it a few times, right here, on this street, when I would walk home late at night. I know where I am. I open my eyes.

That’s the roof I didn’t jump off.

I know just across the alley are the dumpsters I always liked the graffiti on. Rawrdcore’s fursona and a Sparkledog Clownpuppy. I always thought I was meant to meet the artists. I always meant to reach out to the artists. Just beyond that is a little sub-alley I could see from my old apartment’s balcony. I’d go out on it to smoke weed. The view from there was the wrong way, so I couldn’t see the city, just the alleyway where the homeless slept. I’d probably have died a lot sooner if that balcony was a bit higher. The five minute walk from my floor to the roof was enough of a mental gap to hold back the times the thoughts were just intrusive.

The sun starts to set and I take my place in the alley.

I’m lying on some concrete steps, looking up and imagining where the stars must be hiding behind the pollution, hoping the rabbit I know lives on this block hops by and reminds me how even such a pathetic creature can survive here longer than me.

I wonder what everyone I’ve ever known must be thinking. I wonder how many of them notice my absence. It’s just been a couple days without posting, surely none of them have noticed. I think of my girlfriend I left in California. She knows where I went but not what I’m doing. She thinks I’m rooming with a friend for a bit, just to get some space. She’s absolutely worried now that I’m not responding to all the texts. I consider calling her and telling her everything. I don’t.

It’s cold. It’s so fucking cold. I put too much brain power into thinking of the most boring thing to listen to while falling asleep, just for the sake of the reference. All for the sake of the reference. All I know is references. I give up searching for Glenda Jackson interviews and turn back on my suicide-playlist. I fall asleep listening to Will Toledo seeking reprieve from depression through dissociation.

Haven’t you?

Something between a dream and a feverish thought-spiral fills the entire sweltering night. Skeletons and ghosts dance amongst playing cards and chess pieces. The world unfolds like a dead origami unicorn and everything before me is a flat piece of darkness. I see a figure with its back to me. At the shadow’s edge the twilight reverie is shattered. A column of intense light, a blinding beautiful blue streaking into the ether. I can almost make out their face. I can almost hear the music. I can almost… I can’t. I can’t see anything.

I can’t see fucking anything. I’m laying on the cold pavement at three in the morning pretending that I care about anything. I’ve felt the same way every time I’ve ever gotten high: a small part of me is always perfectly conscious. I’m faking it. I’m faking everything. I could be fine if I wanted to and it’s all in my head. I squeeze my eyes shut and beg to dream more.

What if I never see more? What if I die not knowing–

God, what if she’s right? What if this insignificant anchor to reality will keep me bound here? What if I chicken out because, no matter how much I believe in what I’m doing, in the end I care too much about seeking more knowledge? I’m just gonna keep floating through life, a ghost tethered by unfinished business.

A friend leaves a suicide note lamenting that he won’t see the end of Homestuck and I know now a decade later that Shahrazad never stops spinning her tales.

My brain writes a dozen shitty dream sequences that my conscious mind rejects for being cliche.

I finally drag myself out of the alley after the sun is already rising into another clear blue sky.

Today is the day. I don’t mentally dwell on it.

I have another stop to make first. One more plot beat to hit. I pay for a bus fare with the ORCA card given to me by the ego-destructing manufacturing job I had a couple years ago. They made me pay for the card initially but then never asked for it back. Its magically gotten renewed both years since and I’m not complaining. We pass over Lake Union, heading north, towards Fremont. “The Mind Electric” on repeat.

That manufacturing job was actually split into two periods of temporary positions. In between the temp agency had me do a couple other odds and ends. Security check for a concert at the zoo was a fine one. The card shop inventory was not. I was so excited to be working with something I loved, Magic the Gathering, but it turned out to be the worst job experience of my life. A dozen people down in a basement, opening hundreds of packs of cards and sorting them by value. A frenzied repetition of destruction: peel the cellophane, crack open the box, surgically strip each card-pack of its glossy exterior. Endless trash bags of discarded skin and husks. Hundreds of Gandalfs and Frodos thrown into sorting bins. Mr. Salt wanted a golden ticket for his daughter. I ran screaming. I took the first bus home while they kept on ripping and tearing down there. I cried on the bus, quitting yet another job, when I looked out and saw Vladimir Lenin staring back and I knew everything was going to be okay.

That’s where I am right now.

He promised me so goddamn much. The pandemic hit and I sought any hope left in the world and I found it in books and in movements and in camaraderie. I slept through two decades of my life not caring about anything and suddenly I cared about everything. My enemies became my friends and I finally understood why anything on Earth was worth fighting for. My old friends became my new enemies and I could not comprehend why I could suddenly see what they still can not. My parents threatened to throw me out into the void of the pandemic and my once rival called me and told me everything was going to be okay. I sat on the curb feeling like I was about to die, crying into my phone, and she told me things would be okay. My whole damn world was flipped on its head.

Those were the best couple years of my life. I felt part of something. I felt like I had finally found out what it was all for. Every piece of media I had consumed and every day spent meticulously cultivating a social life and every night lost to lamenting how little I had done with my life all led here. The internet discourse and the social failures and the cloud-hosted scriptures all came together to form the singular Plot that kickstarted my Real Life.

We were going to save the world.

So what the hell happened? It all stopped as suddenly as it started. Every hope was dashed and every friendship burned and I found myself back where I had started. Am I here to follow through on my karmic destiny? Or am I just sick to fucking death of arguing with teenagers online? Am I just a sickly pessimistic person who can’t hold herself together enough to play her part in keeping the spirit of revolution alive? I should be teaching people as I was taught, forming the next generation, trying again. And here I am on a deeply selfish adventure trying to satiate the self-fulfilling prophecy the way one orders McDonald’s on UberEats. A quick, messy, expensive, destructive, self-indulgence.

I’m trying to dance. You should see me dancing. The Velvet Underground’s “There She Goes Again” is blasting on repeat through my headphones and I’m catching glimpses of Lenin’s hard stare towards the horizon with each pirouette. I want to dance and not have a care in the world. I’m going to die. I’m going to die today! I’m going to die today!

My footwork is sloppy. I took two years of dance classes to get out of Gym and now I’m just a crazy person stumbling in the middle of the street. I turn up the music louder. She’s down on her knees, my friend. Tears are streaming down my face, my friend. I’m dancing. I’m dancing and I don’t care that I’m about to die.

Why can’t you see it?

I’M GOING TO DIE.

I’M GOING TO DIE TODAY!

I’M GOING TO DIE AND I DON’T CARE!

I DON’T CARE!

I’M GOING TO DIE TODAY!

LOOK AT ME.

SOMEONE LOOK AT ME.

GOD PLEASE SOMEONE SEE ME.

I’m in the bathroom of a nearby pizza place. I’m shaving my face one last time. The final performance of a daily show that ran for 15 years. I’d have done it twice a day if I ever actually cared for the opinions of the spectators.

How many people will get hurt because of me? Am I just going to spur on the campaign of hate? Is every public appearance we make one that spurs on the campaign of hate against us? Should we hide? Should we pretend to not exist so that we may do so in secret? Do we beg for acceptance? Is rainbow capitalism today worth the inevitable genocide tomorrow? They will never accept us into the world as it exists. We have to make something new. We have to.

Back on the bus, heading south. I turn on something that isn’t on the playlist, something buried in my Youtube likes. “04 min 20 with Large Prime Numbers”. I don’t know the title, I don’t know the words. It’s just loud and emotional noise.

I wish I liked trains.

The light rail emerges from the tunnel and I breathe a sigh of a kind of relief the likes of which I have never felt before. As I watch Seattle fade once more into naught but a distant threat I suddenly remember that I had forgotten to tell you about how much I wish I liked trains. I just think it would be a neat autism to have. I could spend my days reading about the different models and makes, tracing routes on maps and researching the histories of stations and supply lines. I’d play railroad tycoons and watch those old VHS tapes they’d air the infomercials for. There wouldn’t be broken friendships, touchy subjects, callout posts, and endless balancing acts. I wouldn’t be traumatized by the punishments for being oblivious to feigned familiarity nor lost in the labyrinthine social web I spun myself into. I’d just like trains.

“I guess, ultimately, it's all my own fault,” as I catch my mind rewinding back to when I was 16, looking for a way to make some friends. All the things I got into, all the communities I joined, all the discourse I sought just because even that fucked up hate was one of the kinds of love we shared.

“I guess, ultimately, it’s all my own fault,” as it wanders back to when I was 23 and seeking any guidance at all. I had no plans for sleeping anywhere but the twin-sized mattress on my parent’s living room floor. I was beating my head against the wall, begging myself to make art good enough to absolve me of the sins of my fandom years.

“I guess, ultimately, it’s all my own fault,” and I’m saying goodbye to my dad at the airport, about to embark on the only real adventure I’ve ever been on. A lifetime of theme parks and movies did not prepare me for anything I faced when I chased a brighter future. He’s telling me to start living, to meet people, to have sex, to try drugs from the safety of my home. I think of his words as I’m standing in that accursed graveyard of a city for the first time, still blind, still naive.

“I guess, ultimately, it’s all my own fault,” and I’m listening to the Psycholonials soundtrack as the plane touches down in California and I’m given one more chance.

“I guess, ultimately…” I’m back on the light rail after my sixth botched suicide and I know I can’t blame myself anymore.

The bus stopped in front of the Climate Pledge Arena and I couldn’t get off. This was my stop. I knew this could be my stop. Musk would be there in 20 minutes and I could exit. And I didn’t. I just kept riding.

I let Youtube autoplay a song I had never heard before. My brain refused to decode the soundwaves and it all streamed through my brain like white noise.

I called my girlfriend. Told her I wanted to come home. She bought me a ticket on the earliest flight.

I couldn’t change the world. I wouldn’t have changed the world. Very few can. They’ve made it so hard for any of us to matter. It’s not a personal failing, I’m just another victim of oppression operating on a scale I cannot fathom. I should read more theory. I should make more friends. Right now I just need to stay alive. At least one more day. Even just one more day.

[milestonekestrel]

STILL WAKES THE DEEPERS COME GET YOUR DINNER!!!

[BODY HORROR AND FLASHING WARNING]

Thoughts under the cut (it gets lengthy)!

So.. we´re finally here huh? Took me a little over a week, but its done at last!

I´ll be honest, the idea first came to me when I listened to the song. I was brainrotting so bad on Still Wakes the Deep, I think I could´ve twisted anything into being about it haha. But this song actually fits it super well. ¨You lose touch with all the things that made you feel sane.¨ fits especially well with Caz, as everything that sort of grounds him on the rig during the shape infestation, the things that make him feel sane (mostly his friends) are all things he loses. In many cases, right in front of him. He also loses his family, as he realizes hes never going to get back to them, and, at the end, he loses himself too.

I tried to draw Caz´s hair progressively worse as his mental and physical state do. At his very best, particularly in the flashbacks at the end, his hair is shaped very specifically. But the more he goes through, the worse it gets, until at the very end where its just a tangled mess. Also his emotions, obviously towards the end he is still super emotional and stuff but I had hoped to sort of make it more...subdued? Maybe that´s not the right word, but he´s been through so much that his reactions aren´t as big to things, he doesn´t quite have the enough energy. He still Goes Through It with Finlay, but after that he´s giving you a constant 5000 yard stare. The, ¨I just watched every single one of my closest friends die in front of me¨ look.¨

Even when he gets to the derrick, he can only stare at the shape abyss.

He´s also in terrible physical condition and I tried to illustrate that with the scene of him standing up after Finlay dies. He is literally on his last legs, he is so, so tired.

also!! three flashy sequences in very quick succession at the end! do you know why? because Caz starts to See. The first, after Brodie dies, is a bunch of unique images about Caz. The people, things, and parts of himself that he is losing or has lost. Accompanied by other things, parts of himself, his life, etc.

There´s also these two images of Muir and Innes that I love very much.

The second one happens as he holds the lighter above the oil abyss! This ones just people he lost. And the third is everything that happened in the pmv flashing before his eyes. Because it is Quite a journey he has been on.

But you know why these flash? because Caz realizes that every step he is taking is one step closer to his death. Because he realizes that he is never going to get off the rig. because he realizes that he is going to die here. So hes thinking about Everything. His life, his family, friends, the horrors he went through, the things he lost and the things he will never, ever get back.

He also hallucinates Suze a lot in the pmv, but unlike in the game its not flashback sequences and she is not normal Suze. Until the end, when he´s reflecting on his life, its Suze With Tendrils!! Shape infected wife!!

and then at the end, she becomes more normal. Because he is flashing through the events of his life. also because he misses her, but he knows that by doing what he is doing, Shape Suze will never, ever exist. She will be safe.

I had a fun time drawing all the scenes in the pmv, but a select few are my favorite.

For example: The Beira D Bookends!

At the beginning and the end of the pmv, you get a full shot of the Beira D!

I like these scenes because I love having secret things like this. The bookends,,, ough do u guys get it they´re bookends... The Beira D is where it all takes place, in the game, and in the pmv. It is the first and last thing you see as Caz, and the first and last thing he sees in the 24 hours this takes place in. It is a very significant location, which is why it bookends the pmv.

Addair and Caz at the Stack:

Getting to animate this whole sequence was a blast. It´s my absolute favorite part of the game! Followed closely by the ending, but still my most favorite. I just think its a really cool part of the game, and it plays a lot into my Addair headcanons so!!! pretty sick!!

Caz´s Memories:

After he drops the lighter, Caz and his family are shown again. You can see him and Suze reconnecting (as well as the fact that I yoinked @inky-ash´s headcanon about them meeting up after he got punched in the face). He also plays with a young Cait. and drawing the hug between them just about made my eyes misty, because he really loves his family,,,, auuuughh,,,

also. the wedding photo.

I didnt really try with their outfits honestly, but I still really love how this came out. the wedding photo means so much to me...

The Lighter:

a little extra bit about the lighter. I drew when it was handed to Finlay, and when she handed it back to Caz. There´s no real scene parellells between these scenes, but I do really love them, and the whole fact that the Lighter was originally given to Finlay before she gave it back to Caz.

The Scene That Is Most Definitely Not A Reference:

Just kidding. it is.

The pose and composition is indeed a self-indulgent reference to the first artwork I made of Still Wakes The Deep!

Sinking:

The first time you see Caz in the pmv? He´s unconscious in the ocean, and sinking.

and the last time you see him? Unconcious, in an ocean, and sinking.

boy I sure do love parallels and things.

The Helmet:

at the very end, his helmet appears in the waves, before sinking below the surface. This is another self-indulgent little detail that serves as a nod to my headcanon!

I also just generally enjoyed drawing Caz and his facial expressions. That man means so much to me, so it was awesome to draw him so much!

also, I think its funny you can tell exactly when I figured out what the Cadal logo looks like, or that there even was a logo on the uniforms.

If you watched the pmv, or read this far, thank you so much!! This game means so much to me, and I´m so glad I could make this pmv. I love all the support this fandom has given me so far, so thank you! Thank you so much! Couldn´t have done this without such an awesome fandom <333

[strawberry-jan]

Back in late 2022, I started working on a long story about Ishin: a tale of two dummies whose weird one-night stand blossoms into a surprisingly caring relationship even as a (mostly) canon-compliant series of tragedies plays out around them. It’s a now-complete series in approximately 125,000 words and three parts, and you can read the whole thing right now on AO3: The Glorious and Bloody Deeds of Okita Soji, Volume 1: Okita Soji Versus the Scoundrel Saito Hajime; The Secret History of Saito Hajime, Volume 2: The Shiraume Incident; and, finally, Brief Notes on the Domestic Life of one Saito Hajime.

Taken as a whole, it's a story about identity and history and the stories that people tell each other and themselves about those things. And it's a story about one guy getting way too into weird Edo-era egg dishes, and another guy finding himself embroiled in an extended detective sequence, and a third guy composing a series of corny haiku that (almost) nobody wants to read. And, of course, it's also a story about people who are shamelessly and sometimes explicitly in love (so you probably shouldn't read it at work).

This whole big, sprawling thing has been a labour of love on my part: it turns out that I adore writing historical fiction and finding excuses to read books and journal articles in order to write it better. In addition to making not one but four little illustrations to celebrate the fic's completion (and please look at them up-close; I hand-inked all those kimono patterns), I've drawn up a list of some of the sources that I consulted for my writing, and you can find those under the cut.

This is not an absolutely exhaustive list of sources; I don’t think it’s super useful to catalogue the extremely nitty-gritty stuff, like that time that I felt compelled to find out what the state of strawberry cultivation was in 1860s Japan, or when I needed to picture exactly what it looked like when Haruka was repairing Ryoma’s kimono. That being said, I’ve added a couple of things that are really particular to my stories but that I thought were cool enough to share.

Foster, Michael Dylan. The Book of Yokai: Mysterious Creatures of Japanese Folklore. U of California P, 2015. (This one was a really fun read – it combines a short history of yokai in folklore with a little catalogue of yokai.)

Jansen, Marius B. Sakamoto Ryoma and the Meiji Restoration. Stanford UP, 1971. (Super useful as an introduction to the Bakumatsu era and for biographical details about Ryoma and the figures around him.)

“Japanese Wiki Corpus.” https://www.japanesewiki.com/. (This is a machine-translated collection of articles on the Japanese side of Wikipedia related to Kyoto. As with a lot of things on Wikipedia, the citations on these articles tend to be poor or nonexistent, but it’s a useful starting point for information on figures and events that don’t have an English wiki equivalent. Definitely more useful if you can then head over to the original wiki articles and parse them out yourself.)

“Kabuki21” and “The Noh.” https://www.kabuki21.com/section.php, https://www.the-noh.com/en/plays/index.html. (I’m lumping these two together because I tended to consult them in tandem. Without getting too much into my personal details I am – among other things – a non-practicing theatre scholar, so whenever I wanted to have characters in my old-timey fics refer to something cultural, my first stop was old plays. These sites have, respectively, summaries of kabuki plays and full texts of Noh plays available for you to browse. If you’ve read my other fics you will probably have seen that I referred to the kabuki play “Fuwa” in 亀が如く.)

Katsu, Kokichi. Musui’s Story: The Autobiography of a Tokugawa Samurai. Translated by Teruko Craig. U of Arizona P, 1988. (A book that needs to be taken with a grain of salt because it’s an autobiography written by a guy who sounds like a real blowhard, but it’s still a really fascinating look into the daily life of a low-ranking samurai.)

Leupp, Gary P. and Tao, De-min. The Tokugawa World. Routledge, 2022. (Of particular interest is Kimura Sachihiko’s essay, “The Shinsengumi: Shadows and light in the last days of the Tokugawa shogunate” [1104-1124], which gave me a bunch of incidental details about the Roshigumi that I incorporated into the sections of this series that were told from Inoue and Hijikata’s perspectives.)

“Old Photos of Japan.” https://www.oldphotosjapan.com/. (Pretty self-explanatory. Very useful as a resource for picturing scenes!)

“Shinsengumi Archives.” https://shinsengumi-archives.tumblr.com/. (A long-running tumblr dedicated to cataloguing resources about the Shinsengumi. There’s an absolute wealth of information collected here, and best of all, the creator cites their sources and even provides links to the original texts. Although it’s focused on the Shinsengumi, it’s impossible to overstate how useful this site is for prospective Bakumatsu-era fic writers in general. The collection of Hijikata’s poems with links to others’ translations and commentary is here: https://shinsengumi-archives.tumblr.com/post/683071924948058112/hijikata-toshizos-haiku-poems. The creator of the blog also links to a translation of Nagakura’s and Shimada’s diaries, and while the document is machine-translated, it’s still a great source of historical details: https://shinsengumi-archives.tumblr.com/post/678083336614428672/where-can-you-read-the-memoirs.)

Smits, Gregory. “Warding off Calamity in Japan: A Comparison of the 1855 Catfish Prints and the 1862 Measles Prints.” EASTM 30 (2009): 9-31. (Okay, this one is highly specific to my fic – it comes up in Part 2 when Okita tells his story about Kashima and again a couple of chapters later when his pile of remedies includes a crudely-drawn picture meant to ward off indigestion – but I love little details like this so I did want to make a point of sharing it here.)

“Tamago Hyakuchin” and “Tofu Hyakuchin.” http://codh.rois.ac.jp/edo-cooking/tamago-hyakuchin/recipe/, https://toyama-tofu.jp/tofuhyakutin.html. (These are collections of Edo-era egg- and tofu-based recipes. They’re two of the sources cited in Cookpad’s collection of modernized Edo-era recipes: https://cookpad.com/recipe/list/14604664.)

Vaporis, Constantine N. “Linking the Realm: The Gokaido Highway Network in Early Modern Japan (1603-1868).” Highways, Byways and Road Systems in the Pre-Modern World. Ed. Susan E. Alcock, John Bodel, and Richard J. A. Talbert. Wiley-Blackwell, 2012. 90-105. (Some of the works cited in this article also sound interesting, but I didn’t have a chance to dig any deeper as I just wanted to know a bit about the Tokugawa-era roads. Also interesting in this vein is Jilly Traganou’s book The Tokaido Road: Travelling and Representation in Edo and Meiji Japan [2004].)

Wert, Michael. Meiji Restoration Losers. Harvard UP, 2013. (Not directly useful as a source for writing about Ishin – it’s about later events and it mostly tracks the posthumous construction of one specific Tokugawa magistrate’s history – but it was an engaging read and I found it interesting as an exploration of how people continue to look back on the Bakumatsu era and the Meiji Restoration, which is something that the game is, of course, also doing.)

Yamakawa, Kikue. Women of the Mito Domain: Recollections of Samurai Family Life. Translated by Kate Wildman Nakai. U of Tokyo P, 1992. (Another one of those bits of essential reading on everyday life for low-ranking samurai, this time with a focus on women’s lives and households more generally. I didn’t use a lot of from this book in my fic, but it has everything from translations of songs to records of families’ financial transactions, and it’s fascinating to read about all the turmoil in Mito playing out in the background of these families’ lives.)

“Yokai.com.” https://yokai.com/. (The creators of this site make a point of not going into detail about their sources, and they’re very careful to state that they don’t intend for the project to be “the final authority” on yokai, but I enjoyed browsing the site to get some ideas for Okita’s stories – and once you know the name of a particular yokai that you’re interested in, it’s easy enough to go look up other sources on them.)

[spookberry]

Shadow High series 3 my new beloved

I didnt even like most of em until i saw them in person, but the knowledge that they'll probably never be in the show has my brain in a "well its free realestate" kinda mood

Random list of information cuz ive been plotting out friend dynamics and background lore

-i like to pretend Rainbow High/Shadow High are actually Rainbow University/Shadow University cuz im in art college Right Now and i think it makes more sense with the whole dorm room situation. And also major makes more sense than focus IMO

-I changed Pinkie's major from film to just undeclared. I think she eventually does land on Film. She just has a lot of interests! Her dream has always been to one day direct films, and I think she comes to love them even more while developing ideas her with the group as she winds up in a Director/Producer position for most of them. BUT also every time she takes a class in a different program she cant help but fall in love with that way of making art too. So she has a hard time picking for a while and changed her major a couple times before landing on Film.

-Pinkie and Berrie bond a lot over a shared interest in vocal synths (tho Berrie knows more about them than her).

-The two made Pinkie's vtuber model together!

-the fandom wiki says PJ is from germany?? Idk how canon that is tbh but ive decided to embrace it i guess

-Rooney's canon name is Scarlet Rose, but i thought it was kinda lame especially when Rosie Redwood is also in this line sooo I renamed her! Stuck to the color name puns tho. Mar Rooney. Maroon. Haha

-Speaking on her though i love that shes from texas and likes writing scifi mystery type stuff and that being said i just Know deep in my bones that she was a Voltron Legendary Defender fan and Keith was/is 100% her favorite. She has a continued fondness for mothman specifically cuz of this.

-PJ and Rooney actually talk about fandom and shows/movies ALL the time. They dont have a ton of overlapping interests, but where they do? The two literally never shut up.

-Rosie is such a random character, like outside of her design she feels very poorly considered. So I scrapped the cosmetology thing and made her an illustrator instead! I think it works better with her love of making art in nature. I can see her being really into illustrated guide books. I think shes a bit snooty when it comes to art too. It takes being friends with other artists to become more open minded.

-I like the idea that Rosie is mainly friends with Rooney and Berrie ontop of that. The three of them often tag team storylines and how theyd interpret them into different mediums. Rosie will draw up a bunch of concept stuff while Rooney writes up a pitch bible and Berrie will start making shit move and throwing in her own ideas on camera angles and character designs.

-as an animation major Berrie was required to take a sound design class early on, which is where she met Oliver! Hes very laid back, and likes to go with the flow, but functions a little like the "mom" of the group. Often reminding the girls to take breaks, drink water, stop looking at their screens lest they get eye strain etc. He's multi-talented tbh but Music is his one true passion and he likes how the girls are always giving him collaboration opportunities.

-Oliver and Rosie like to talk sports a lot, both having played a bunch when they were younger and throughout high school.

-Lavender Lynn is Oliver's number one "person who needs constant reminders to settle down" she is in a constant buzz of trying to get the best shots and is utterly obsessed with the process of artistic documentation. Everything must be documented.

-the whole school loves her for this actually, she has a whole side gig where other students hire her to help photograph their projects. She saves everything she earns from this for her future dream plans to visit paris. She has it set really, many of the artists who she helps photograph now will remain steadfast clients of hers forever onward.

-PJ and Lynn actually took a print media class together at one point. Which didnt at the time spark an everlasting friendship. But it did give PJ an easier in to ask for Lynn's help documenting a project the group was working on. One of Lynn's first times photographing them work happened to fall on a day where Rosie had planned to trick everyone into going on a nature walk sans devices... Lynn wound up really appreciating this outing and decided to continue hanging around the group even after that project had ended.

[ryin-silverfish]

I had a question about Nezha and how he might be characterized in a JttW story (specifically one that draws from Black Myth Wukong, with the common vision of Nezha being physically a perpetual child), and was directed towards you. I'll quote myself verbatim. I was thinking about how one might characterize Nezha for a story, and would appreciate any thoughts or corrections. I haven't read Investiture of the Gods yet, and probably won't for a while, but just going off what we see in JttW and some of the reading I did, this is what I came up with: When Nezha starts out there seems to be a fair bit of recklessness, carelessness, and bloodlust to his character. This ends up getting forcibly dealt with via his agreement with his father, and probably just over time a bit, but while he may become more responsible, as seems to be the case in JttW, the bloodlust and free spirited-ness are really just pushed down. Therefore, I tend to imagine him as being kind of grouchy, a bit stuck up, and a bit of a stickler for the rules, that last one mainly because he has to be, and if he has to obey that stupid oath to his father, than everyone else has to follow the rules too, damnit! But, he also has the repressed bloodlust simmering below the surface and coming out at odd moments, scaring people, which would explain why his father gets frightened of him for a moment in JttW, when Nezha rushes in front of him while he's without his pagoda. On the flip side though, Nezha is also described as a protector of children, so I like to imagine that, while he hates being treated like a child himself, at least by adults, he does like and understand children, and can do a genuinely good job interacting and taking care of them, even talking on their level if the situation demands it, and there's a real compassion and goodness of spirit there that will come out if just given the right opportunity. What do you think?

Well, JTTW Nezha's backstory is kinda barebones, but also: I think the biggest difference between FSYY Nezha and JTTW Nezha is that the latter wrecks the Dragon King's place THREE DAYS after his birth.

It's very much based on the Grand Compendium of the Three Religions' Deities (shortened as SJSSDQ) that inspired both JTTW & FSYY Nezha.

And in the SJSSDQ version, he's already a powerful immortal under the JE before he's ordered to reincarnate to rid the world of demons, thus he's able to slay a bunch of dragons 5 days after his birth.

(I honestly don't think you can apply human development trajectory to gods and immortals, especially with the whole *Property Destruction and Dragon-slaying after 3 days of birth* thing, but that's just my personal opinion.)

Oh, and his "protector of children" thing is very much a later folk religion development. In JTTW as well as FSYY, and even prior to these 2 vernacular novels, he's very much a fierce martial guardian deity known for his prowess at vanquishing demons.

Fun Fact: the Li Zhuowu illustrations of JTTW actually don't depict Nezha with his iconic twin buns (he also looks a lot more like a teenager in these illustrations):

Also, in JTTW, the pagoda isn't exactly dropped on Nezha and used to forcefully subdue him.

The Buddha just gives Li Jing the pagoda and asks Nezha to call (the Buddhas) on the pagoda as his father from now on, and it seems to be a pretty peaceful solution——though Li Jing is still terrified that Nezha will pick up the "revenge" hobby again the moment he doesn't have his pagoda on him.

I personally like the take where Nezha just, doesn't really care about Li Jing anymore, because from his POV, he barely knows Li Jing in the timespan of 3 days, not to mention having an actual father-son relationship.

His vegeneance towards Li Jing is the same as if a random stranger tries to kill you bc you are too much of a menace, and you are forced to kill yourself as a result——still a giant asshole move, but without much personal elements.

Another fun fact: after JTTW Nezha is resurrected by the Buddha, he subdues 96 caves of demons first before trying to kill Li Jing.

...My very unserious crack HC is he rushed out of Vulture Peak to throw hands with Li Jing immediately after resurrection, but lost his way bc he has a bad sense of direction, and beats up all these demons while trying to find his way back ("I'm just asking for directions! Can't they stop trying to kidnap or eat me for one damn second?")

Giant tangent aside, I think JTTW Nezha's other big potential differences in characterization are 1) he's a pretty thoughtful and clever guy, despite still having a bit of an impulsive reputation, and 2) he cares a lot more about his siblings and is probably on better terms with them than FSYY Nezha.

Like, in JTTW Chapter 33, he's the one who suggests to JE that they use Emperor Zhenwu's Dark Banner to cover up the heavenly bodies and create the illusion of the sky disappearing, instead of literally sucking up the sky into a container (which is impossible).

During the Lady Earth Flow Arc, Li Jing straight-up forgets he has an adopted mice daughter, while Nezha remembers who she is, as well as her three titles/nicknames (Golden-nosed White Mouse Spirit, Half-Guanyin, Lady Earth Flow).

Like, she's practically a stranger whose adoption is pretty much her one-sided act of gratitude (for sparing her life), instead of a decision made by Li Jing or Nezha, and the latter still remembers her.

I feel like JTTW Nezha is totally the kind of brother who'll spoil Li Zhenying, and even though Jinzha and Mucha still don't come back that often because of their work, their brotherly relationship is likely a lot stronger.

Also, their mother is still around in JTTW, as suggested by the short exchange between Mucha and Nezha in Chapter 42, where the former asks Nezha to go back and greet their mother, since he's on urgent business and doesn't have the time to pay his courtesy until after he's delivered the 36 blades.

[dancy-nrew]

Happy Secret Samol @humanmorph !!! Yo ho ho a pirates life for you!

Id in alt text and also below the cut for legibility

Image one: An Alise Breka book cover. The illustration (meant to resemble an oil painting) features Leap and Figure A back to back, Figure A closer to the camera and Leap behind them. Leap is in a tie dye hoodie, Figure A has a dramatic collar welded to their round torso. Each are holding a sword and fending off attacks on all sides. Laser beams zip across the screen. The title of the book is “High Seas and Distant Stars” and is written on a yellow band across the top of the page. There is a simplified drawing of palisade as a logo for Palisade Publishing. There is a barcode across the bottom left.

Image two and three: Mockup of the inside of the book. Text reads:

The pirate captain, devastatingly handsome — or devastating and handsome, if you put the question to the unlucky sailors across many planet’s seas — lounged about the deck of the ship. A foul wind had blown through the port in the night, and showed no signs of letting up anytime soon. Disadvantageous, and perhaps more terribly, incredibly dull. Exeter Leap had faced down gods and kings and only laughed in their faces; to be trapped here by a measly turn in the weather made his plating itch.

They’d been here a week already, despite no small effort to leave. Unloading, his first mate insisted, takes time if they want it done properly. Leap had insisted he’d never done anything properly in his life and didn’t plan on starting now, but Figure A had tilted their head in that way they had and explained that properly meant more money, which, he supposed, was hard to argue with. Especially considering their other delay. The Bluebird had taken substantial cannon fire in their last battle, and was desperately in need of repairs, as well as the more tedious maintenance work that went into keeping a ship of its size and purpose in fit fighting shape.

So the minutes ticked into hours ticked into days, and here they are, still.

“I’m not a man meant to stay still,” he complains, staring out over the roiling waves.

”Still: up to and including the present or the time mentioned, or still: not moving or making a sound?”

Leap jumps, but only slightly. A pirate can never be too surprised, but he hadn’t realized he had company, lost in thoughts as turbulent as the sea. The familiar red and gold form of his friend leaning next to him is a welcome sight. “Oh- Uh. Both. Either. Not still here, or still physically.”

Figure A nods in easy understanding. They’re better at patience, at being in one place, but Leap thinks they have something restless about them, too. They lean forward as if they have something more to say but then-! A shout! The familiar blistering heat of a laser beam sipping past inches from his face! A scorch mark across metal! Leaps springs into action as

FREE READING PREVIEW LIMIT REACHED

FULL BOOK DOWNLOAD: 45 GLINT

INSTALLMENT PAYMENTS AVAILABLE !

WHOLE BOOK IN 4 ACTS, EASY PAYMENTS OF 15 GLINT EACH!

EXTRAS AND BEHIND THE SCENES CONTENT (AN INTERVIEW WITH THE CAPTAIN HIMSELF!) 25 GLINT!

Image four: A series of sketches of Leap and Figure A.

First sketch; Leap has his arms crossed saying “Thats not how any of that happened!” as he looks over Figure A’s shoulder as they read the book. They laugh and say “I think it’s fun!

Second sketch; Figure A points at the cover and says “Look at my cool collar” as Leap leans forward to look at it and says “it is pretty sick…”

Third sketch: Leap welding a big metal pirate coat-like collar onto Figure A’s torso as they giggle

Fourth Sketch; Leap grins and asks “How’s that?” Figure A says “Thank yo-“ but bonks their face into the collar as they turn their head

Fifth sketch; very small at the bottom of the page. Leap has a hand over his mouth. Figure A’s head slumps forward as they sigh.

[indigovigilance]

Every single minisode is Aziraphale's memory, and why that's [not?] important

There is extensive meta-analysis, my own included, that Before the Beginning is a doctored memory resulting from erasure of Angel!Crowley, and that the trace of him that is left in Aziraphale's memory is the Starmaker, so that this is what we see at the opening of S2. With this foundation of "some scenes are altered memories," we can critically examine the minisodes and see that, in fact, they are ALL Aziraphale's memories that are potentially subject to doctoring.

Evidence (and exploration) below the cut:

A Companion to Owls

The largest part (S2E2 22:10 to 44:00) Book of Job flashback is book-ended by Aziraphale leaning over the physical Book of Job in his bookshop. We enter the memory when Aziraphale enters it, we leave it when he leaves it. Pretty straightforward.

The Ressurrectionists

Similarly, in S2E3, we begin the first flashback to 1827 with Aziraphale's "dear diary" entry. We flash out each time to Aziraphale: in the car to Edinburgh, getting out of the car at the Ressurrectionist Pub, and with Aziraphale staring up at the statue of Gabriel while standing in the graveyard in Edinburgh, respectively for each of the three flashbacks. This all strongly indicates that we've been in his memory.

Nazi Zombie Flesheaters

I didn't even notice until I was doing research for this that basically the entire episode takes place in 1941. From the end of the main title at 5:00 to 37:50, we never come out of the 1941 story. But what is interesting is what bookends this minisode.

Before the main title, Shax has tricked her way into Aziraphale's car and alludes to a time when a rumor started about our ineffable husbands:

Sometime in the last 80 or 90 years I remember hearing that you and Crowley were an item. I didn't believe it then. Not really. Poor old Furfur.

And when we flash back to modern day, we first go to Hell with Shax proposing a full frontal assault on the bookshop, and then we get:

Aziraphale has arrived back in SOHO, and has spent the 8 hour drive reminiscing about what Shax alluded to.

But this part gets even weirder. Because the final line of the episode is:

You're really hosting the meeting? Absolutely! And I can guarantee you: it will be a night to remember!

What this means in context of the 3 memory sequence

This line has been taken by a lot of analysts as a reference to A Night to Remember by Walter Lord, a collection of first person accounts of passengers of the Titanic. Most notably, the thematic ties of this work to the cinematographic design of Good Omens are captured by this quote:

A key to Lord's method is his technique of adopting an unconventional approach to the chronology of the event, "[taking] an imaginative approach to time and space in which hours and minutes prove extremely malleable, the ship itself seems almost infinitely complex, and the disaster assumes order and unity from far away."

Which is an amazing connection, and probably true, in that it was a deliberate reference by the writers. "Malleability of time and space" describes well how this show is put together for us the viewer. But it also illustrates how Aziraphale experiences his relationship with Crowley; skipping over centuries at a time, while dwelling on and protracting intimate moments spent together, create a cohesive whole when viewed from a distance. That whole is their relationship. [Which is about to go down like an unsinkable ship.]

But absent the literary reference, we could even take this line for its literal meaning. Aziraphale is talking about forming new memories, after we have spent the last three episodes living in his memories of times with Crowley that were key to shaping their relationship. This isn't a S1E3-style series of allusions to a furtive, flirtatious, and organically blossoming intimacy; these are rough events where the two are shoved into moral quandaries and forced to make some really difficult decisions that bring them closer together and define "their side." These are core memories, and incredibly precious to Aziraphale. And now, after a few short days in which he has spent a lot of time ruminating on these intense memories, he is embarking upon the task of making another important memory, that is, dancing with Crowley.

Why We Care

Because memories can be altered, all of the information we get from these episodes is subject to a reliable narrator problem. As of the Gabriel trial, we know that memories can be doctored even when the person in question isn't present. Crowley knows that his memories have been removed or altered, and has put painful effort into retrieving them. Aziraphale may not realize that he has suffered the same fate. These memories that he holds so dear might not even be true.

Memory, Identity, and the Relevance of Fidelity

We would probably expect to get some "corrections" to these memories in S3, to see exactly what kind of manipulations our heroes suffered and what that reveals about the motivations of the perpetrators. That's how a paranormal mystery story with a memory manipulation element would normally proceed.

But it will be even more significant if we don't; it would speak to a philosophy-of-self that you are not the product of your objective past, but of what you remember, and so we don't get to know what actually happened because it doesn't matter to informing us about who Aziraphale is.

Aziraphale's love for Crowley springs from what he remembers about their shared past; it doesn't necessarily matter that the memories aren't true, because the love is.

~~~

I realize that I kinda buried the lead, so if you reblog, please tag appropriately? I'm taking suggestions.

If you want to read more on this topic, this meta by @ineffable-suffering is a good place to go.

[pigeonstab]

@unknownsodabrand Well Lucky you, I also love the artistic process and I keep all my sketches!! (seriously this is the most self indulgent question I could ever answer, thank you sm I'm gonna ramble a while sorry)

First I was only planning on doing the one Geno Illustration, I mostly wanted to experiment with the long 1000x2000 format bc I thought It could make for an appealing composition and it ended up being pretty challenging to get right.

So. I started with some rough planning of where I wanted everything:

Since this was gonna be a full Illustration I planned the colors earlier than I usually would (I have a love/hate relationship with coloring):

Didn't really like how it came out the first time so I just put a color mask over it, I wanted something a little warmer+brighter cause the flowers looked kinda green to me (Geno's was the one that gave me the most trouble and I liked it the least at first, by the time I finished It was my favourite XD)

Then I decided to make the three parts:

again used the same planning, rough sketch then color.

Then onto actually starting the Illustrations. I worked on these one by one but I'll show the process for all three by the steps rather than saying the same thing thrice.

as much as I wanted to keep the best for last I couldn't help myself and did the characters first.

Lineart:

(Error was supposed to be holding a golden flower so I made his hand's lineart and color layers it's own folder so I wuldn't mess it up trying to draw the flower. I looked a bit stupid so I scrapped the idea)

Flat color:

(I think I did Error's coloring after his background?)

In terms of backgrounds:

for Sans I started with the grid pattern, so I used a ruler tool and went in with color directly (the gradients are changes I did at the very end but I'm not editting out) Then I added the columns and the flowers were a last minute addition because the piece just felt a bit... naked. (also! I say columnS cause I planned on putting two, couldn't make it work the angle and space so I scrapped the bottom one)

The light is a yellowish white with gaussian blur of orange, it's an 'add' layer? ("ajouter(éclat)" because my app is in french) It's about 50% opacity.

I also shaded Sans at the same time as this with a multiply layer with a dark and light color (reddish brown and like light yellow) I'm not showing it bc I do have a 30 image limit I think

Then for Error's background it's just a case of making the lineart for the hammock, haing a layer underneath for the color, a white bg with blue gradient and the strings

For geno I have underneath the black to grey of the save screen, then I have the moss and the flowers

(The flowers were very fun to make I think I only copy pasted one?)

The lighting is a multiply layer over the whole image made the exact same way as Sans' coloring, I thought it was maybe a bit too dark so I dupplicated geno's lineart and colors folder to overlay over the lighting so he would pop more (seeing this now I think either would have been good. The first one might be better actually)

and that's it I think! If you read all of this, well first of all thank you but don't you have anything better to do?

also revised Geno's sketch once but it didn't fit in any where:

Error with my attemps of making the flowers work

[tamsinbeybey-she-no-porcupine]

bbc Ghosts tattooshop capvers au

okay completely based on @captain-rickbond amazing modern Caphrey drawings:

My brain ran with an Ghosts tattoo shop au and though it's Caphrey bffs of course my brain made it Capvers (no one saw that coming I'm sure😉):

-Robin: tattoo artist style old school has one big lightning tattoo over his whole body nothing else. Does also do stick n poke.

-Humphrey: tattoo artist traditional and neo traditional does classic paintings on the side that he sells ,covered in tattoos himself (based on cap rickbonds drawings)

-Kitty tattoo artist. Style: fineline, floral work, dot work , watercolour and cartoon style

-Mary tattoo artist style: black work specialised in tattoos that look like old book illustrations and sketch style, loves doing witchy tattoos

-Allison tattoo artist photorealism style I. Colour and black and grey

-Cap: store manager

-Thomas: that one customer who gets turned away frequently because he wants face, neck or hand tattoos as his first tattoo

-Julian customer three tattoos one heart with Margot one with Rachel and some pun/innuendo very close if not directly on his gentleman's excuse me. Robin did all of his tattoos

-Fanny: friend of cap does like Humphreys paintings and comes by when she wants to chat, gossip or ask Humphrey to do a portrait of one of her pets (on canvas obviously)

-Pat: customer. friends with all of them no tattoos over shirt lines because he works in a bank. His tattoos are mainly humourous about stuff he loves in cartoon style kitty is his main artist.

-Obi the shop apprentice focuses on graphic style (tattoos that look like graphic design) and / or trash polka

The story:

Cap has few tattoos from different artists. Fineline flowers from kitty and a date that holds great importance to him done by Humphrey, a morsecode tattoo on his chest etc. his tattoos are not visible to others normally. They are small and personal.

Robin has a certificate in how to tattoo scars and made all of his artists learn as well

Havers just moved there and wants to symbolise a new start in life with something beautiful coming out of the scars of the past (upper body/arm scars not the face ones)

He walks in for a consultation and is a bit nervous because first it has to be determined what can be done, if the scars can be integrated and if the goal is to fade them optically or use them to enhance the picture.

It's a busy day and stuff has gone wrong so there's a waiting period and cap gives him tea and they get talking and find out they're both ex military and he's relaxed and smiling by the time robin comes to collect him

During the consultation Havers let's it shine through that he's not exactly sure what he wants style wise so robin who's very old school in wanting to challenge his artists calls them one by one to look at him and asks them to design something that symbolises his wish of a new start

He even calls cap in to ask something about if they still have a specific needle type. Cap sees Havers shirtless and gets extremely flustered. And everyone's like "??" Because normally cap runs the shop like a well oiled machinery but now he can't remember if they have that needle size

Havers returns the week after to look at the designs and the main themes are phoenixes or flowers (a lot of dandelions and lotuses)And cap can see (because he keeps looking🤭) that Havers is a bit overwhelmed with choosing so he brings them all tea and starts chatting with him and it quickly turns out what he really loves from which design so cap suggests they do a collab piece on Havers. And everyone whose in the design gets really excited and of course it means that Havers has to come back for another consultation. By that point the others have caught on that cap is talking to and mentioning that one customer a bit often.

Havers returns the next week and for some reason he got the appointment wrong and is almost an hour early (oh dear) and so that very handsome store manager who is bored on this very slow day takes it upon himself to drink tea with him and chat telling him that he loves the meaning behind his tattoo and that he's in good hands and it'll look awesome on him and he shows him his own tats which makes kitty run to the others and whisper because normally no one gets to see caps tats.

The design is wonderful and Havers loves it but because of size and difficult level aka sitting through the extra spicy pain it's gonna be done in numerous small sessions. And every time cap and him find time to talk to each other or shooting glances at each other.

His colleagues try to get Cap to ask Havers out before it's too late but cap is like that's unprofessional and the guy is here to get a tattoo not be hit on by staff.

With the sessions and the healing process it takes months before the tat is finished and it's very clear to everyone else around them that the attraction between the two is very much mutual

And on the last appointment cap wants to ask him out before he possibly never sees him again but everything goes wrong because Thomas demands that this new poem of his has to go on his neck and Robin argues with him and Julian Fawcett turns up drunk for his appointment and Alison has morning sickness and so cap who waited anxiously for Havers to come pay and say bye had to do the payment real quick and wants to say bye and ask him but then Julian smashes a vase from the counter because he got in on the argument between Thomas and Robin and Havers at one point slips out sad that he didn't got to talk to Cap one last time.

Cap is feeling a bit down over the next weeks and everyone is trying to cheer him up.

A few weeks later Havers is suddenly there again because he lost some lines during healing and Cap wasn't even aware that there was an appointment but Humphrey is like oops forgot to tell you.

The actual appointment is over suspiciously fast. (Aka Humphrey met Havers somewhere accidentally and used to meddle)

And then it's time to say goodbye and Cap can't get the words out and Anthony looks very anxious and he's almost at the door but cap calls out to him, Havers whipping around and cap is like I eh oh well I meant to say...we'll be having a flash day on the third if you're interested.

And something about calling him back just gives Anthony the kick he needed and he informs him that he doesn't think he's the type just yet to get random tats because he's more after meaning. New beginning specifically at the moment which also means new people in his life and there's one person he really likes and wants to get to know even better and then he asks Cap out.

Over the next two years the teasing sentence "cap stop flirting with your boyfriend we're about to open" can be heard almost every day in the shop at which point Havers leans over the counter to collect his daily goodbye kiss before leaving for work.

Havers design btw I'm thinking a phoenix made out of flowers like a flower bomb gone off all over his flank and pieces on his chest and upper arm like flames out of flowers everywhere around the actual bird where there is scarring.

During those two years Havers gets a tattoo of the date of his first appointment underneath the phoenix.

And after that the only clearly visible tattoo Cap has that is done as a collab and on two people who don't have many tattoos (the absolute exception Robin makes which drives Thomas insane) are the wedding ring tattoos for Cap and Havers.

[xelbleedsglitter]

Friends, Romans, Tumblrites, lend me your reblogs.

I'm Xel and I live in a society! I think there's a solid chance you do also! So you may relate to the profoundly crappy thing that happened to me and that I once again need a community assist.

I lost a temporary job that was supposed to turn into a permanent job in June because no one there felt safe enough to retire. Only two of us in the apartment were under 50. One of the crew was over 70. Three were chronically ill/disabled. No one felt safe enough to leave in order for me to stay, so I was trained for basically 6 months for nothing.

I have survived on savings from that job until this point, but I'm at the point where I cannot pay rent. I'm looking into getting help from sources more local to me but the internet has always felt like people who cared about me more than the people I share DNA with, really.

Many of the social services that I was signed up for expired the day that I was supposed to be told that I would be a permanent hire, and since that didn't go down, now I have to start it all again from the beginning, and there are gaps in my security net.

I tell you all of that just to say that I am actually trying to do things, I'm not here to just beg and coast along on some sort of lavish lifestyle where I, uh. Keep living in this dodgy apartment with my cat.

I don't want to bore you with an itemized list, but like 2,000 US dollars would get me through September and October without being worried about it like every 3 minutes. My rent is 700 and change, if you would like to know that. So I'm looking for like September and October rent and money to renew my driver's license, pay a few utility bills, buy a bag of cat food, and refill my medications.

If you have the notion to toss help at an internet pal or the extended reblogged acquaintance of an Internet pal, as is more likely the case, probably, that would be super rad of you.

I'm an artist! You could get things with images on them from me! I sell buttons, prints, and commissioned illustrations if that's your thing. My commissions are going a bit slow as of late - I only recovered from being not really able to walk like 2 months ago, and so I'm doing a lot of catch up like everywhere else in my whole life and trying not to spend too much time at a desk since it aggravates the spine thing that was the problem in the first place.

To be honest, it would be a greater help to me to just receive some Aid rather than full-on commissions, but I completely understand feeling fishy about people getting something for nothing and also feeling bad for being a charity case on the internet, so I'm not opposed! If you want to chat about that, I have a commissions post on the side or top of my blog depending on where you're looking at this!

Ko-fi contains my buttons and is a good place to toss digital dead American presidents if that suits you. I will get hit by some PayPal fees in this process but, I'm willing to call that a call for help on the internet tax.

I promise I'm a real person and not a bot who has made up a cat and is pretending to have interests. My blog has been here since 2010! I've met people on this website in person and everything. I've had embarrassing obsessions no bot would bother coming up with. Speaking of:

Similarly to times before, I would like to be able to do something in order to feel like I have earned some kind of support, and as of my birthday last week I have resolved to try very hard in the next year to conquer my fear and absolute mortification about many of the things I make, so I will once again go digging into my archives for things I can post for you to enjoy as thanks and tribute! I also have a poll running right now to see what kind of buttons people want!

Thanks for taking a look! Be nice out there, take care of your spines!

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 7/23/24

i woke up at ass o'clock monday morning to find BOTH of my cats sleeping on the bed with me :') temporary peace and love on planet niceys

also read a book where my takeaway was that there are SO many opportunities in the world for evil engineering but not nearly enough for evil puzzle games

listening

my sister sent me ONE instagram reel/screencap of a tiktok and ive been muttering "emergency! emergency! paging DOCTOR BEAT!" under my breath for the past three days. alarmingly catchy remix of this gloria estefan song. this specific video below is pretty close but there are approximately eight zillion versions

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reading

Dark Wire by Joseph Cox (photo from here, description from the publisher's site).

The inside story of the largest law-enforcement sting operation ever, in which the FBI made its own tech start-up to wiretap the world, shows how cunning both the authorities and drug traffickers have become, with privacy implications for everyone. In 2018, a powerful app for secure communications called Anom took root among organized criminals. They believed Anom allowed them to conduct business in the shadows. Except for one thing: it was secretly run by the FBI.    Backdoor access to Anom and a series of related investigations granted American, Australian, and European authorities a front-row seat to the underworld. Tens of thousands of criminals worldwide appeared in full view of the same agents they were trying to evade. International smugglers. Money launderers. Hitmen. A sprawling global economy as efficient and interconnected as the legal one. Officers watched drug shipments and murder plots unfold, making arrests without blowing their cover. But, as the FBI started to lose control of Anom, did the agency go too far?   A painstakingly investigated exposé, Dark Wire reveals the true scale and stakes of this unprecedented operation through the agents and crooks who were there. This fly-on-the-wall thriller is a caper for our modern world, where no one can be sure who is listening in. 

i really liked this one! cox did a really good job of slowly unfurling the extremely technical details as they became relevant, instead of one horrible infodump near the beginning, and has a real gift for humanizing little anecdotes that illustrate the concept. he's also dryly funny in a very british way, eg the transition between one paragraph describing a very talented olive oil salesman and his lifestyle to how that olive oil processing covered up drug labs with the sentence "But Catanzariti didn't stay with olives; he pivoted instead to methamphetamine." i loooooove reading about how the drug trade gets around customs. i love edge cases and figuring out why things fail. i truly think some of the finest materials engineers of our time are out there trying to figure out how to get cocaine into australia.

this is deeply reported in a way that's very different from a lot of popsci and pop-history books that annoy me: this is NOT a book where it feels like the author is simply padding out a wikipedia page, supplemented with articles he's already written. he's been on this beat since 2016 and it shows: he has quotes from hundreds of people on many sides of the drug war. something i also appreciate is that cox is not automatically, rabidly pro-cop; he does not gloss over the very real tortures and kidnappings and all the other nasty realities of the global drug trade, and frequently shows how much overreach and entrapment took place during this whole endeavor. i particularly liked a chapter where he flipped back and forth from various law enforcement officials assuring him they of course complied with all relevant privacy laws and blacklisted anyone using it for simple secure communications, and lawyers telling cox "no the cops very much did spy on my privileged communication with my clients and i know this because these texts came up in court". also gratifying to read about some cases overturned or thrown out, in the odd case a judge decided it looked too much like entrapment.

i feel like i devoured this book SO fast but it's a solid 352 pages in hardcover. i also had to wait a good two months on the libby holds lists so there is strong interest in this book! good for cox!

how did i find this book: it's austin underscore walker's fault. they used to be coworkers at vice and cox and three others broke off last year to found 404 Media, which has had an absolutely crazy amount of real-world impact for the size (again! four people!) and how long they've been around. rip vice. wish u did better by your people.

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watching

watched Hercules (1997, dir. Clements & Musker) with my bestie's five year old. i did not grow up with disney movies and don't really have a nostalgic affinity for them but this shit holds up! i like how meg has the silhouette of a greek vase

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playing

powerwash simulator has a new free DLC out! we get to go to the aquarium and wash some exhibits and wash the research submarine!!! VERY soothing. took me a good solid two hour podcast episode to clean the exhibits.

the temporary summer event in genshin impact is very darling this year-- there are big indie game vibes and unlocking every chest is a little more complicated or has a little bit more story attached than usual. very excited to see if this continues with the next big update that introduces a whole new land.

i also like that they've picked An Art Style to work with-- everything is very toy-like or origami. not that genshin doesn't have a distinct art style, but playing around with something less realistic is fun!

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making

look im going to have to add a cross stitch update to the morning reblog. the lighting in here is simply Not Good Enough